


my best friends are my enemies (so i'll keep you close to me)

by problematiclesbian



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 01:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14660739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiclesbian/pseuds/problematiclesbian
Summary: Clint gives her an amused look. “I mean, I know we’re dealing with an international assassin here but-”“But what?”Clint puts the stack down and leans back in his chair, arms tucked behind his head. “But they kinda seem like love letters.”





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> i just want to say i don't know who the marvel cinematic universe is or what that is and i dont wanna know thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go

_"it is the unteachable skill to belong anywhere. The other edge of what is the unfortunate truth: You must first belong nowhere."_

 

* * *

There’s something intensely satisfying to Maria about finishing a mission. Not just taking down whoever’s responsible, securing the package, but following the trail all the way back to the start, unwinding the mystery until it’s not a mystery anymore. There’s comfort in that too, in finding the logical answer, in the predictability of endings. It’s like playing chess; every move, she’s found, has meaning, a line of reasoning that can be traced. Every player has a purpose. And she keeps track of them all, able to see each working cog that make up the entire operation. It’s why SHIELD hired her and it’s why she’s so good at what she does.

There is only one person she’s never been able to solve.

 

It starts with a postcard. Maria thumbs through her mail, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door and kicking the door shut with her foot, hearing the satisfying clicks of her security system. She tucks a magazine in the back of the pile and underneath it: a postcard.

Maria stills immediately. Almost no one knows where she lives; her mail is usually just addressed to “current tenant” or a cover name she’s used to subscribe to a magazine, even if she never has time to read them.

The front of the postcard is a photo of Lake Zurich, Switzerland, with “Wish You Were Here” sprawled along the top. It’s faded and crumpled, like it’s been through some things to get here. She flips it over to see a multitude of stamps and customs marks, and underneath: Maria Hill.

There’s nothing else written on the card, but in the bottom corner, a quickly scratched drawing: two triangles, one upside down on the other. An hourglass.

Her immediate reaction is to reach for her gun, still attached at her waist. She draws her weapon and creeps slowly through the house, looking for an intruder. But there’s no one. Her dishes sit still in the sink, right where she left them. A breeze ruffles the curtain in the living room. The apartment is untouched.

Adrenaline still pumping, Maria drops onto the couch, holstering her gun and gripping the postcard instead. Is it a warning? A threat? Mailing the card means they know her address, but no one has come to kill her. Maria sorts through each scenario in her head, analyzing the issue. This postcard means something, but what?

She’s not scared though. Maria has been in charge of case 39724, code name Black Widow, for almost a year, the most difficult case the organization has seen in a long time, and it’s safe to say she knows more about the Russian spy than she knows about any of her friends. Not that she has many. Maria Hill is a name that strikes fear into the heart of any recruit, and she’s well known throughout SHIELD for taking exactly zero bullshit, ever. And that’s how Maria likes it. She has Coulson and Clint and that’s good enough for her.

Anyway. It’s an odd sensation, to know someone so intimately even though you’ve never met. And if you did meet, her brain reminds her, you’d have to kill her.

Maria sighs, sinking back into the couch. This postcard is the first time they’ve ever made contact with the Black Widow. But this isn’t contacting SHIELD. The Black Widow is contacting her, personally. And it’s not a threat. Maria doesn’t know what it is. Or what it could mean.

Looking back now, of course,

she can pinpoint the moment, the moment that would lead to all the other moments. The logical move would be to report the postcard to Fury immediately.

But Maria has never been one to back down from a challenge, and she knows reporting the postcard is the same as admitting defeat- the same as admitting she can’t solve this.

So Maria makes the first move in a game she doesn’t even know she’s playing yet- she drops the postcard into a drawer of her nightstand and locks it.

And she really hopes that’s the end of it.

 

* * *

 

That’s not the end of it. They keep coming. Postcards. They show up randomly, from all over the world. After the blank one, Maria finds herself painstakingly translating Russian off the back of each subsequent postcard.

The second one, from Mexico, reads:

_“You may live twenty-five years more; All will still be there. No way out. You die. You start again and all will be repeated as before.”_

And the next, from Belarus, with a smear of what Maria suspects is blood:

_“You will not grasp her with your mind Or cover with a common label, For Russia is one of a kind– Believe in her, if you are able…”_

The issue is- Maria never feels threatened by these notes. Instead, unwillingly, she starts to think of them as mail from a distant penpal. And part of Maria thinks the writer feels that way too- the poetry on the back of the cards seems to shift from time to time, as if the writer is trying to figure out which quote Maria likes more. 

It’s not like she has a lot of close connections these days and somehow. It’s nice to have this one thing that’s hers, even though Maria knows how crazy that sounds. Postcards that are probably a trap, the one part of her day she looks forward to? Stupid Russian poems, a knife cutting through her shield of loneliness? Ridiculous.

From a small town in Australia:

_“How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you?”_

Eleven weeks after the first, she receives one from Yemen:

_“Spirit is stray! you are less and less likely, You are stirring the flame of my lips. Oh my lost freshness, Riot of eyes and a flood of feelings.”_

And rain-soaked one from Tokyo:

_“I threw my heart down mountain ways. It lies far, far below! I walk into your bonfire`s blaze! Consume me!”_

Maria never writes back. She never responds.

But she never throws them away, either.

Which is probably her biggest mistake. She knows she should be worried that the infamous Black Widow knows where she lives. But so far the messages seem harmless. Just Russian poems. Maria is ignoring that many of the passages have a distinctly romantic slant to them. It doesn’t mean anything. This is the Black Widow she’s talking about. Maria is sure that this is just some sort of trick the assassin is playing on her. It has to be.

Sitting in her office one afternoon, Maria surreptitiously types in her password and opens SHIELD’s extensive file on the Black Widow. She scrolls past pages of potential sightings and information on the Red Room, all information she basically has memorized, until she arrives at what she’s been looking for: known handwriting(s).

Of course, it’s entirely feasible to change one’s handwriting. And other people could have this information too; it’s not that difficult to imitate someone else’s handwriting. But it’s impossible to mistake that the handwriting in this file is the same as the handwriting on the postcards she’s been receiving.

Meanwhile, the biweekly meetings to discuss tracking down The Black Widow rarely make progress.

“She’s just playing games with us.” Maria grinds out as she glares at the map, watching the blinking icons showing where the Widow was last. The latest data put her in Croatia, which coincidentally is where Maria received the last postcard from.

Agents Morse and May are also present, next to Coulson. Fury had tasked the four of them with the proving to be impossible job of finding The Black Widow. Seeing as no organization had a clear photo of her in the last five years, none of them were very hopeful about their chances. Hawkeye was currently chasing down a potential source in Peru, in between other SHIELD missions. There had been an uptick in potential threats recently, and everyone at SHIELD was working overtime to keep up.

Coulson shuts the file in front of him with a sigh. “I think we should call it a day.” he states firmly. “With everything that’s been going on lately, the Black Widow is the least of our concerns. If anything, her work benefits us.”

That’s what infuriates Maria the most. Lately, all of the Black Widow’s hits have been undercover Hydra, or part of a terrorist cell, or somehow involved in the latest nefarious scheme. It’s like she’s helping. And a part of Maria suspects this is all part of some plan, that somehow it’s connected with her postcards.

But she still doesn’t tell anyone.

* * *

Exactly 4 months, 17 days, and 3 hours after the receiving the first postcard, Maria presses her intercom button.

“Get someone to send Barton in here. ASAP.”

Enough is enough. Loathe as she is to admit she needs help, Maria has made no progress on the purpose of these damn postcards. And, though she won’t tell anyone this, she’s almost started to look forward to them. Maria studies the latest intel they have on the Black Widow and she repeats the poems in her head; watches fuzzy security footage cam of an operation in New Zealand and recites them to herself; she checks her mail more frequently than she ever has, and her stomach sinks in something like disappointment when there’s nothing new- it’s getting ridiculous.

When Clint arrives, she locks the door.

As succinctly as she can, Maria explains the situation. The postcards, the poems, the signature.  

Clint picks up one of the cards gingerly and flips it over, scanning the back while Maria pretends she hasn’t already memorized them all. She’s definitely not going to translate them for him, so he better remember his Russian.

“Do you write back?” he asks casually.

“How can I? There’s no return address.” Maria stills as she realizes her mistake. “I wouldn’t even if I could. But it could be a good way to track her.”

“And you don’t know why you’re getting them?” Clint flips through the stack.

“No.” Maria snaps impatiently. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

Clint looks up and gives her an amused look. “I mean, I know we’re dealing with an international assassin here but-”  
“But what?”

Clint puts the stack down and leans back in his chair, arms tucked behind his head. “But they kinda seem like love letters.”

“Barton, don’t fuck with me.” Maria says in the voice that would make any other agent cower in fear.

“Hey, it makes sense, if you think about it.” Clint scratches his neck awkwardly. “I mean, we know the Red Room would never allow her to have any sort of friends or connections, right? And she doesn’t have a partner. Technically, you’re probably the person who knows her best.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Maria bites out sharply. It’s not like she hadn’t already considered this. She considers every possibility. But this isn’t a possibility. “This is the _Black Widow_ we’re talking about, Barton!”

Clint holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I know it sounds crazy. But if you ignore that she’s a wanted assassin, and you’re head of the task force trying to track her down, it’s almost… romantic!”

“But she is a wanted assassin and I am head of the task force trying to track her down!!” Maria puts her fingers to her temple. Barton is giving her a headache. All of this is giving her a headache.

Clint stands up, reaching to put one hand on her shoulder comfortingly before drawing back. “Hey, I wouldn’t worry about it. I could be wrong. Plus, it’s not like it would work, anyway”

Maria eyes him. “What?”

“Even if _The Black Widow_ is trying to seduce you, I mean, you’re Maria Hill.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Of course. Get out of my office, Barton.”

“Thanks for the advice, Clint! Oh, you’re welcome Maria!” Clint yells as he scampers out and down the hallway.

Maria puts her head down on the desk with a thunk.

* * *

 

Maria loves protocol. She’s an expert at it. There’s rumors on the helicarrier that she has the entire handbook memorized, a rumor she’ll neither confirm nor deny. There’s protocol for every situation, and Maria knows it all. 

But there’s nothing in the SHIELD handbook that could’ve prepared her for this.

“Hill.” Maria says curtly as she picks up the phone. She’s swamped with work today, and two junior agents had set fire to one of the labs again.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Maria has always been fast on her feet. It’s part of her job. She’s been on hundreds of field missions, and sometimes you only have a split second to choose: left or right, shoot or stay, answer the Russian spy who’s calling you or hang up.

“Shakespeare?” She says dryly, and it’s her training that helps her voice stay steady even though her pulse is speeding. “I think I prefer the boring Russian poetry.”

“Boring?” The voice on the other end of the phone responds, just the faintest hint of a russian accent. “Commander Hill, I thought you had better taste than that.”

“I’m not really a poetry kind of girl,” Maria says calmly even as she keys in the commands into her tablet to track the phone call.

“And what kind of girl are you?”

She huffs a laugh. “That’s classified.”

“I think we both know nothing stays classified to me. Not for long.”

“And who are you, exactly?” Maria dares to ask, as she watches the program load. 30%.

The Black Widow gives a delicate laugh, the kind of laugh that might have made Maria’s heart miss a beat, if this had been any other situation and it had come from any other girl. 40%

“Let’s not lie to each other, Maria. You know who I am, just like I know you’re trying to track this call. Just like we both know I’ll be gone before you can even order your agents to this location.”

“And you’ll just go back to sending me postcards?”

The voice on the other end goes silent for a moment. “I thought,” it says carefully, “that you might appreciate them.”

“I think I’d appreciate them more if I knew why I was getting them.” Maria states bluntly, repressing the part of her that wants to grab the phone and demand answers. 50%.

“Can’t a woman just send another woman a postcard? Why does it have to mean something?”

Maria taps her fingers on the desk impatiently. 60%. “With you, it always means something.”

“I’m flattered that you pay such close attention, Maria.” the caller says in a voice so sultry Maria is sure it’s been the last thing many men have heard before they die. “But I can’t give you all the answers.”

“I don’t like games, Widow.” Maria growls into the phone. 70%

“Then you chose the wrong business, I’m afraid.” The caller sighs. “I have to go now, my kotyonok.”

Despite herself, Maria flushes at the term of endearment. “Don’t call me again.” she grits out, angry at herself. “I’m tired of this.” 80%

That laugh again. “I thought we agreed not to pretend. Goodbye for now, Maria.”

“Wait!” Maria cringes at the eagerness in her own tone. “Can I get a name? You already know mine. Isn’t that fair?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, so long Maria almost checks to see if she’s hung up. 90% .

But finally, she gets an answer.

“Natalia Romanov.” the voice says. Then she corrects herself: “You can call me Natasha.”

The line disconnects, just before the tracking program spits out: “LOCATION NOT FOUND”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work title is from "lethal combination" by the wombats  
> okay so literally i havent seen any mcu movies after civil war and i dont want to so im sure theres many continuity errors and what not and i dont care sorry!!!!!  
> 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i got discouraged to update because of all the drama with sc*rl*tt j*h*nss*n so i just wanna say that i dont support that actress in any way at all. i love natasha romanoff the character whom looks similar to that actress but they're not the same thanks  
> also this chapter is so long? so hopefully that makes up for the fact it took me like five months to post  
> ******ALSO***** just a heads up for the end of this chapter, no spoilers but i just wanna say obviously OBVIOUSLY im not going to kill any of the main characters. major injuries are just for the drama!!!

_I liked Hell,_

_I liked to go there alone_

_relieved to lie in the wreckage, ruined, physically undone._

_The worst had happened. What else could hurt me then?_

_I thought it was the worst, thought nothing worse could come._

_Then nothing did, and no one._

* * *

 

On the other side of the world, on a balcony high above a crashing sea, Natasha stares blankly at her reflection in the now blank screen.

_Stupid. Reckless._

She can hear the echoes of their voices in her head as if they were her own. She left the red room almost a year ago now, but she can’t shake these ghosts of her past, can’t quite lose what’s been beaten into her since birth.

Methodically, she pulls the sim card out, snapping it in half before tossing it and the phone over the balcony. She’s so high up, she can’t hear it land over the sound of the waves.

-

She didn’t send the first postcard until she’d been on the run five months. Natasha (Natalia was just a ghost now) had spent months disappearing completely, then building her reputation as a rogue agent. They say no one meets The Black Widow and lives.

Of course, when SHIELD began tracking her, it was only natural to research.

_Study them. Know them. Find their weaknesses._

That’s when she discovered her.

Deputy Director Maria Hill. Part of Natasha was flattered that they felt she was dangerous enough to warrant the deputy director stepping in on the case. From what intel she had on SHIELD, the Director and his Deputy rarely stepped into missions personally, instead commanding from their helicarrier (a ridiculous, american contraption).

Natasha could admit, it had started as just part of her survival.

_If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle._ _  
_ She didn’t know this stranger, this new Natasha who answered to no one, who didn’t kill mindlessly as told, but instead relied on her own skills to spy, to infiltrate, to slowly work towards her ultimate goal.

So instead she focused on her enemies, and The Black Widow had quickly gained many enemies. But none as enigmatic to her as Maria Hill.

The first postcard had been a taunt, of sorts. To recognize her opponent. But the rest…

Natasha could not justify them, not to Natalia and the rest, anyway. To openly taunt the deputy director like that went against all her training.

But SHIELD and Maria Hill had come closer to catching her than ever before, and Natasha felt the quiet thrill of a worthy opponent, an actual challenge. Maria Hill, who didn’t even tell SHIELD about the post cards, as far as Natasha could tell. She was a puzzle, an unknown piece in the game of Natasha’s survival. Unpredictable, in a world full of people who’s every move, Natasha already knew.

And if sending the postcards was risky, then a phone call was down right suicidal. But Natasha did not take well to being ignored. She also couldn’t deny that a part of her wanted to hear what Maria had to say, to know what the deputy director thought of her.

It had, Natasha could admit, gotten out of control, this obsession. She may be free of Russia’s hold, but that didn’t mean she could go playing telephone with the first government agent who caught her eye.

-

Below her, the water crashes against the rocks, unrelenting. The sun is setting; the night has arrived.

Natasha sighs, taking a moment to slow her breathing, to erase the sound of Maria’s voice from her mind.

Then she stands, adjusting her wig slightly and letting the last of herself fall away. Natasha disappears and only the Black Widow remains. She slides open the balcony door and steps back into the hotel room.

On the bed two men lay, tied together and furiously struggling against their bonds. They freeze when she enters the room.

The Black Widow picks up the knife. “Now.” She smiles a slow, deadly smile. “Where were we?”

 

* * *

 

Maria spends the next week answering her phone on the first ring. Even Coulson gives her a weird look when she keeps checking her phone under the table during a meeting. It’s not that she’s waiting for another call, exactly, but she feels like the Black Widow has already made the first move in this match, and Maria is determined to keep up.

-

Of course, then Natasha calls while Maria is asleep.

“Hill.” Maria mumbles, pressing the phone to her ear as she sits up, turning on the light.

“Hill? Are we not on a first name basis yet?”

As soon as she hears that voice, Maria wakes up fully, straightening and glaring around the room as if the assassin might appear on the other side of the bed.

“Romanov.” The syllables feel clumsy on her tongue. It should feel wrong, she knows, to address the Black Widow like this. Like a colleague.

Or a friend.

“Has anyone ever told you your phone etiquette needs work?”

Maria sighs, as if this is the one thousandth time they’ve had this conversation. “Has anyone ever told _you_ it’s rude to call at,” she glances at the clock, “3 in the morning?”

“Oh, sorry. Time difference, you know how it is.”

“Oh? Where are you, exactly?”

Natasha genuinely laughs at that. “Please. I’m not going to make it _that_ easy, Maria. Besides, shouldn’t you know that already? Don’t tell me SHIELD is slipping…”

“Maybe SHIELD has better things to do than figure out wherever you’ve ambled off to now.”  

Natasha smiles her deadly smile, even though Maria can’t see her. “You wound me. Am I not SHIELD’s top priority?

“You’re not even in the top ten.”

Natasha gives a dramatic sigh. “I try so hard, and yet…”

“Most people would consider not being on a secret government agency’s watchlist a good thing.” Maria grumbles, shifting back under the sheets once it’s clear this conversation isn’t some sort of tactical attack.

“I’m not most people.”

Maria snorts. “You’ve got that right.”

“Careful, Director, that almost sounds like a compliment.” Somehow, Maria is sure wherever she is, Natasha is fluttering her eyelashes.

“It’s Deputy Director. And I assure you, it was not.”

“So what’s a girl gotta do to get a compliment from you, _Deputy_ Director?”

As soon as she hears Natasha break out her ‘sultry’ tone, Maria knows it’s time to go.

“Alright, well as fascinating as this conversation has been-”

“Me? Fascinating? Oh Deputy Director, I’m swooning!”

Maria raises her voice over Natasha’s exaggerated drawl, “-I’m hanging up now.”

Natasha pouts so hard, Maria can _hear_ it through the phone. “Aw. Okay, goodnight, Maria!”

Maria starts to say goodnight back before she remembers who she’s talking to and abruptly hangs up.

Then she turns out the light, resolutely blocking out their entire conversation.

But she doesn’t fall back asleep for hours, laying in the dark and thinking about the lilt of Natasha Romanov’s voice.

 

* * *

 

“Boo!”

Maria raises one eyebrow, giving Clint an unimpressed look as he drops out of an air vent.

“Good morning, Agent Barton.”

“Is that any way to greet your dearest friend whom you haven’t seen for months?” Clint jogs after her as Maria makes her way down the corridor.

“It was two weeks. And Coulson is my ‘dearest friend’.”

“And I’m his boyfriend, so I’m also your dearest friend. It’s the transitive property!”

“How did you possibly pass the quantitative part of the SHIELD entrance exam?”

“I didn’t.” Clint shrugs, unrepentant. “Anyway, why are we talking about me? How are you? How was Singapore? Did you miss me?”

“It was fine.” Maria waves away one of Fury’s assistants who’s trying to get her signature.

“Gee, thank you for sharing. Between you and Coulson, it’s a wonder I even know what emotion is.”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect.” Maria drops her pile of paperwork onto her desk and looks back up at Clint. “Do you need something?”

Clint isn’t thrown or discouraged by Maria’s stoney facade. “Well, it’s just been so long…”

Maria’s glare softens by one one hundredth.

“And I wanted to know if you had any update on the thing!”

Maria’s glare returns to full force.

“You know,” Clint nudges her shoulder, ignoring her look. “The thing. With the thing.” He makes a complex series of hand motions.

“I speak both English and Sign Language and yet, I still have no idea what you’re saying.” Maria knows exactly what he’s saying, but she doesn’t want to answer.

“Mariaaaa. The love letters!” Clint winces at his friend’s even dirtier look and lowers his voice. “The love letters. Any updates? How goes romancing an international assassin?”

“I am not romancing her.” Maria hisses under her breath, glancing around like she doesn’t have the location of every camera on the base memorized. “And they’re not love letters!”

“That doesn’t answer my questionnnnn.”

Maria grits her teeth at Clint’s sing-songy tone. She is not going to tell him that she’d spoken to Natasha twice more while in Singapore. She’s not.

“There is _nothing_ happening between me and The Black Widow.”

“Now, Maria, you know what they say about denial.”

“No, actually, I don’t. Tell me, Agent Barton, what do they say about denial?”

This makes Clint pause. “Uhhh… that it’s not just a river in Egypt?”

Maria takes a long, calming breath. “As always, Clint, thank you for your advice.”

Clint seems to sense that Maria should not be pressed further, because he relents on his questioning. He salutes her, instead. “Yes Ma’am. You still coming over for dinner tonight?”

“I’ll probably make an appearance.”

Clint grins at his friend, even as she studiously examines a piece of paper instead of looking at him. “Great, see you tonight!”

Maria makes a shooing motion until Clint backs out into the hall.

“Oh, and Maria?” Clint peeks back in the doorframe.

Maria looks up expectantly.

“I missed you, too.”

Maria shuts the door in his face.

 

* * *

 

Maria isn’t going to admit it, but talking to Natasha Romanov has almost become part of her routine. It’s been months since the first conversation, almost a year since the first postcard, and she’s starting to expect these phone calls.

They come randomly, at different times and different days, although somehow, suspiciously, always when Maria is alone and has the free time to answer the phone. She’s choosing not to look too closely into it. After all, it seems mostly harmless. Lately, The Black Widow’s activity has been almost… helpful, taking out known terrorists and other black market men and women that SHIELD had on their radar. As a result, SHIELD’s resources were focused on more immediate threats, and not on finding The Black Widow.

And it’s not like they talk about anything important, anyway. It’s mostly a lot of flirting from Natasha and exasperation from herself. She’s not sure why she keeps answering the phone, only that she always does. like right now, as she paces around one of the empty training rooms. Natasha’s voice is interrupted by a loud series of noises that Maria takes a moment to place.

“Are you killing people while you’re on the phone with me?” She’s not really sure why she’s surprised.

There’s more shuffling on the other end of the phone until she hears Natasha’s voice come back. Technically, she was just knocking them unconscious. She tried not to kill unless absolutely necessary these days. But she wasn’t going to admit that kind of weakness, even to Maria Hill.

“It’s called multitasking, Hill. Maybe if SHIELD tried it, they’d actually get something done.” There’s a thud, like maybe the sound of a body dropping.

Maria grinds her teeth. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“You’re easy to get worked up, you know that?” Natasha returns, even as Maria hears her fist connect with someone’s skull.

As Maria starts to rant about all the better things she could be doing, Natasha grabs the flash drive out of the computer and tucks it into her pocket. Then she starts running, with a dumb grin on her face at Maria’s ramble, which has already started to become familiar.

When Natasha reaches the beach, a small motorboat waiting for her, she finally interrupts Maria. “I mean, you don't _have_ to answer…”

So maybe she forgets to keep the smugness out of her voice.

Maria huffs and hangs up the phone.

Natasha smirks to herself, knowing despite how put out Maria acts, she’ll still answer the next time Natasha calls.

She always does.

 

* * *

 

“What exactly are you trying to get from this?”

Maria is locked in her office, in New York instead of the helicarrier, for once. She had been doing paperwork, before Natasha called. Now she’s doodling stick figures on the corner of a contract and trying to pretend she’s not invested in this conversation. “Talking to me on the phone all the time. You’re not getting any top secret SHIELD intelligence. And I mean, you must know I’m never going to like you. I’m never going to be your friend.”

“I have no friends.” Natasha responds, unfazed.

“Do you ever say anything that isn’t extremely mysterious or overly angsty?”

Natasha doesn’t laugh, but Maria can hear the smirk in her voice. “Yes. When I flirt.”

“In that case, I prefer angsty.” Maria deadpans.

“You’d be the first.”

Something about that statement makes Maria pause.

“Is that why you flirt with me? Because you believe that’s the only way people like you?” Maria ignores the voice in the back of her head that is trying to tell her she shouldn’t antagonize a professional killer.

Natasha doesn’t hesitate at Maria’s jab.“Would it be easier for you if it was? Because you’d rather it be my issue than for you to have to deal with someone actually having feelings for you?”

Damn super spies and their damn abilities to read people.

Despite Natasha’s words, Maria counters back quickly. “You don’t have feelings for anyone, Romanoff. You’re the Black Widow”

There’s silence on the other end, before Natasha abruptly changes the subject.

“Do you know how to play chess?”

Maria has interrogated before, she knows a deflection when she hears one. But she lets the moment pass.

“I do.” She says. “Do you?

Natasha scoffs. “Of course I do. I’m Russian.”

“That’s your reasoning for everything.” Maria points out.

Natasha ignores that.  “Are you good at it? Playing chess?”

Now Maria scoffs. “Of course I am. It’s insulting that you had to ask.”

She definitely doesn’t smile as the sound of Natasha’s laugh filters through the phone. “Are you this competitive with everything? I bet you’re a terror at the annual SHIELD softball game.”

Maria leans back in her chair. “How do you think Fury lost his eye? Things got a little too heated playing poker one night…”

It’s only when Maria hangs up the phone later that she realizes she spent 45 minutes just talking to Natasha. Not tracking her, not interrogating her. Just talking to her. (Not flirting. She refuses to think of it like that.)

Maria gets up from her desk and stomps into the hallway, looking for some agents to chastise so she doesn’t have to think about how those 45 minutes were the highlight of her week.

 

* * *

 

She’s fucked. She’s ~~Natalia~~ Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, ex-Russian spy, assassin, expert in hand to hand combat, shooting, and gymnastics, among other things, and she’s absolutely fucked.

The sheer fact that Maria Hill continues to answer her calls is still a shock to her. It’s been months now, but she’s still surprised every time she hears that grumpy voice ask her why she’s calling.Natasha’s always known she was beautiful, sure. That’s a given; her looks, her body, they’re just another asset to use against the enemy. It’s why she was more effective than any of her male counterparts, something her trainers could not teach or instill. But Maria Hill can’t even _see_ her, and yet somehow, she still wastes her time talking to Natasha. It makes Natasha feel somehow warm inside, as if maybe Maria Hill can see past the killer than Natasha trained to be. It makes Natasha _want_ to be more than the killer she’s trained to be.

She knows Maria thinks she’s talking to her for intelligence, or perhaps because she thinks Natasha has no one else. And Natasha is going to continue to let her think that. It’s better than Maria knowing the truth: knowing that Natasha has begun to genuinely care for this woman, to think about her, to _want_ Maria, when Natasha, or at least one of her many aliases, could have anyone. Maria thinks she has no choice, when the reality is Natasha is choosing her, is choosing Maria Hill over and over.

A part of her shudders to think what her old bosses would think, to see how she’s softened for this woman, how she’s become almost a vigilante instead of the killing machine she was raised to be. It’s been over a year now, but Natasha still wakes up in silent screams, still tenses when she makes a mistake, waiting for a blow that never comes. She wakes up sweating and panting and she has to remind herself for hours that she’s free now, that they can’t control her anymore. She’s not Natalia anymore. She’s not.

And that’s why she’s absolutely fucked. Because while Natasha may not have much experience with feelings that aren’t fear, anger, or hatred, she’s pretty sure she _likes_ Maria Hill. Every particle of her being, every atom of her fucked up, brainwashed, tortured mind fights against the mere thought of caring about someone, but it’s becoming undeniable. And when she can get past them, beyond her instincts, beyond the traits that were beaten and burned into her, Natasha finds that she doesn’t mind. That it’s nice to care about someone, it’s nice to have something to look forward to. She’s almost proud of it, proud to show they haven’t ruined her, that she can feel good emotions, even though they tried to hard to ruin her. She’s not who they trained her to be. She’s Natasha Romanoff, and she can love who she wants. Or, _like_ who she wants, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Maria stands at her stove, stirring a pot, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder.

“I really don’t believe you can cook.”

Maria smiles at the words. Natasha is in a good mood today, the hints of her accent leaking into her tone. It’s jarring, how fast the spy can switch personas, effortlessly slipping in flirty, or cold, charming or cruel. But Maria thinks she’s starting to figure out the tells, the slight differences. Every conversation is another piece of the puzzle, one step closer to figuring Natasha out. For purely professional purposes, Maria reminds herself. Just like any other subject she’s studied. Right.

“Just because _you_ can’t cook doesn’t mean I can’t.

Natasha huffs, sounding irritated, but Maria knows she isn’t. “I could learn to cook if I wanted to. But why would I, when you can just cook for me?”

“You better learn to like Italian food, then.” Maria doesn’t even mind the flirty remarks anymore, just brushing past them. She figures it’s part of Natasha’s persona, something she does with everyone.

Natasha makes a disgusted noise. “Europeans and their fucking pasta.”

Maria laughs, because she already knows what’s coming. “Well, I’m not going to make _borscht_.”

This comment has the desired effect. “That’s not even Russian, that’s Ukrainian.” Natasha practically growls. “And borscht is still better than any chicken fucking parmesan!”

Maria grins to herself, chopping some basil to add to the mix while she listens to Natasha. She’s trying to be content with this, with whatever tiny pieces of her life Natasha will share with her. But it’s hard. However unintentionally, all this talking means Maria has been revealing information about herself. It’s not anything important, not really, just dumb facts about her childhood, or likes and dislikes. Little things.

But all of Natasha is a swirling entity of mystery, and it’s impossible to tell which parts of Natasha’s personality are real and which are just facades, figments of personas and covers that Natasha has adopted to shield her true self.

“Natasha.” She interrupts. “Can you… Can you tell me one real fact about you? Just one?”

“What?”

She already regrets bringing it up.

“It’s just- I don’t know anything real about you. I don’t even know what you look like, really.”

Natasha’s voice turns cold, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, that quick. “You’ve read my file.”

“Anyone could read your file. I know you have red hair, and green eyes. I know your fighting styles. That doesn’t mean I know _you_.”

“You know everything you need to know.”

Maria sighs. It feels like someone physically shutting a door in her face when Natasha shuts down.

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Yes, I do.” Natasha’s voice is firm. “I know who I am. What I’ve done.”

“Who you _were_ ,” Maria stresses the word, her voice matter of fact, “was a girl forced to do horrible things. The monsters are the men that made you that way. And you don’t have to be who they built you to be.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and just when Maria is about to apologize for bringing it up, Natasha speaks:

“I have to go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” And she’s gone.

Maria puts down the phone, feeling scorned and foolish. She shouldn’t try to change this, this odd ~~relationship~~  friendship. She should just leave it alone.

The next time they talk, she doesn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

It’s a bad day. Natasha has been MIA for like nine days, not that that matters to Maria, and more importantly, Maria’s team in Belarus is trapped. It was a tough mission, one so difficult Maria had almost gone with her team (she rarely goes into the field anymore), only staying behind because Fury insisted.

And now it was all going south. They’d lost visual almost thirty minutes ago, and they have an evac team standing by, but it’s useless unless the team can get out of the complex they’re trapped in. Currently, they’re surrounded.

Maria listens to the gunfire on the com, growing increasingly concerned. That’s when her phone rings a third time.

She angrily accepts the call. “Now really isn’t a good time!” This is the first time Natasha’s call actually makes her angry.

“It’s never really a good time, with you.”

“No, now _really_ isn’t a good time.” Maria looks surreptitiously around the room and meets Coulson’s concerned gaze. She moves the phone away from her mouth. “I’ll be right back.” She whispers to Coulson, and ducks into the hallway before he can respond.

“Natasha, I-”

“Your team walked into a trap. I know.”

“You KNOW?!” Maria’s voice rises dangerously.

“I just found out.” Natasha amends, her voice smooth. “Listen, you know I wouldn’t bother you without a reason.”

“Yes you would.”

“Okay, I would, yes. But I do have a reason this time. I… acquired.. some old plans for the base, and I think you can get your team out a back way.”

Maria begins to pace in the hallway, keeping her voice low but strained. “I can’t take information from you, Natasha. I don’t even want to know how you know where my team is, or what methods you used to get that information.”

“Hill, I know, but-”

“NO!” Maria whispers in fury. “The phone calls are one thing, Natasha, but if you really think I’d trust any information from the Black Widow, then you’ve really lost it.”

“I’m trying to help you. I know how important your damn team is; you tell me all the time, okay? If you just check the northeast side of the-”

If Maria was in a calmer state of mind she would have noticed the change in Natasha’s tone, but every second she spends out here on the phone is another second she’s not helping her team.

“Stop. You’re a murderer, and you want me to believe you’re trying to help me?! The Black Widow _hurts_ people, Natasha, or have you forgotten what you are?”

There’s an ominous few seconds of silence.

“I see.” Natasha’s voice isn’t even angry. It’s absolutely empty. Emotionless, like Maria has accused her of being, weeks ago. “Sorry to bother you.” She hangs up the phone.

Maria feels regret start to spread through her, joining the panic, before she slides back into the room, pushing those feelings aside to focus. The team is her number one priority. The mood in the room is grim. She joins another agent at the central table.

“Any luck?”

The agent shakes his head. “It’s not looking good.”

“Have you…” Maria grits her teeth. Opens and closes her mouth. Tries one more time. “Have you looked at the plans again? There could be a back way.”

“Impossible.” Another agent interjects. “All the routes out have been blocked.”

“Well, check the old plans!” Maria snaps back. “The northeast side.”

It’s Coulson who pulls the map up on the main screen. Maria scans it, looking for anything unusual. She knows there won’t be. There can’t be.

“There!” Someone points at a hallway, so small it would have been undetectable unless you knew where to look.

“That’s a dead end.”

“No, he’s right.” Maria zooms in, already pulling on her headset to contact the team. “That’s what the currents schematics say, but the ones from the 1970’s…. There could still be a way….”

Thirty minutes later, a rescue helicopter is sent and the team is rescued. Maria nods to the rest of the strategic team, the crisis past, and goes to leave.

“Maria.” Coulson stops her. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

Coulson gives her a look, which just means his expression doesn’t shift at all. “How did you know to look for a old way?’

Maria avoids eye contact. “It was just a guess. A lucky guess. It doesn’t matter, anyway. All that matters is the team is safe.”

Before he can say anything else, she pushes through the door and hurries down the hallway, Coulson watching with concern as she goes.

 

* * *

 

Maria sighs, looking at her phone. No missed calls. She’s paced the break room so much, she’s starting to wear a path into the carpet.

She keeps trying to tell herself it doesn’t matter. She’s been telling Natasha to stop calling her for weeks, if not months, so this should be a relief, right?

Right. So why does the silence make her feel so _lonely_?

She’d gotten used to it. That was the problem. Maria had gotten used to talking to someone, so it was understandably weird when it stopped. It didn’t mean she cared about Natasha. And it certainly didn’t mean she missed her.

Maria checks her phone one more time. Still nothing.

She stalks her way out of the break room and down to the gym, tossing her phone into her locker and heading to the boxing area.

She works out until she’s exhausted, and then she keeps working after that. She throws herself in round after round of punches, kicks, sit ups, laps.  She punches the bags until her knuckles bleed, runs until her feet blister. Then Maria stumbles back to her bunk.

She’s so tired she might actually be able to fall asleep tonight. But she can’t help checking one more time.

0 missed calls.

She shuts her eyes.

 

* * *

 

After three weeks of radio silence, she finally breaks.

“You want me to find a blocked number? That’s it?”

Maria is doing her best to remain calm and unbothered. “Yes. It might be impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible for me, Maria.”

She’s not going to roll her eyes. She isn’t. She nods, instead.

“Will you do it?”

“I don’t know.. So, what, I do this for you, SHIELD owes me a favor?”

This could be the most difficult thing Maria’s ever done. She swallows her pride.

“Not SHIELD.” She corrects, barely hiding a grimace. “This is a personal favor. I’d owe you.”

“Maria Hill would owe ME?” It’s truly taking Maria everything she has not to punch Tony Stark right in his smug face. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Whatever. Can you do it or not?”

Maira holds her breath while Tony pretends to deliberate. She has no way to talk to Natasha; Natasha had always called her. It’s only because she has no other options that she’s asking Tony Stark for help.

“Alright, fine, you convinced me! Stop begging, it’s pathetic.”

Maria pinches the bridge of her nose. “And listen, Stark.. I need you to keep this between you and me, alright?”

Tony pouts. “You take the fun out of everything, Hill. But fine. I’ll do my best to quell my curiosity.”

Maria digs her nails into her palms instead of stabbing him with a stray screwdriver. “And be careful with it, okay? There’s some pretty high tech stuff protecting that number.”

Tony scoffs. “Please. I invented high tech. I probably built the microchip your phone runs on, it’s not that hard to track one measly phone number. Look, I’ll do it now.” He plugs Maria’s phone into a monitor.

“Wait, Stark, I wouldn’t-“

There’s one loud blare of an alarm before all the power in the room shuts down.

“Woah.”

Maria resists the urge to smack herself in the forehead.

“Holy Hell, whose call are we trying to trace? The president of Russia? Someone just shut down my whole system.” Tony frantically keys something into his tablet, but the room stays pitch black.

“Okay, well, let me know if you get the number. Good luck!” Maria slips out the door before the man can question her further, leaving Stark behind in the dark.

 

* * *

 

Natasha is in the middle of a meeting as Nadia Ryan with some higher ups in the Austrian government who she suspects are laundering funds when her personal phone rings.

“Что ты хочешь? Я занят.” She snaps.

“You’re going to have to repeat that, my Russian isn’t very good.”

On the other end, Natasha stills. She lets herself take two measured breaths, then spins to the group behind her.

“Excuse me, but I need to step out for a moment. An explosion at one of the factories.” She tells them in German, walking briskly out of the room before anyone can answer her.

Alone in the hall, she responds: “Deputy Director Hill. How did you get this number?”

Maria winces. So that’s how it’s going to go.

“I called in a favor. I didn’t have any other way to contact you.”

“Why would you want to contact me? I’m just a murderer.” Maybe that’s passive aggressive, but Natasha lets a little bit of hurt leak into her tone anyway.

Maria takes the figurative hit. She deserves that. “Listen, I know what I said was cruel. I’m not going to make excuses. I was upset, I was worried about the team, and I just said what I knew would hurt. But I-“ Maria presses her hand to her temple. God, she hates discusses feelings. “I… I don’t hate talking to you, okay? I’m not gonna pretend I’m _not_ the deputy director of an international organization who currently has a mission to kill you, but…”

“But?”

“But as long as you’re evading capture anyway, I.. don’t mind talking to you on the phone sometimes. I guess.”

Natasha bites back a small smile. “As far as apologies go, I’ve heard better.

“What else do you want me to say, Natasha? I’m sorry, okay?” Maria holds her breath while she waits for a response.

Natasha knows she should let her go. She should change her number and shut Maria Hill out before this goes any further. To continue this unorthodox connection goes against everything Natalia ever learned.

But she’s not Natalia anymore.

“I mean, you must have felt pretty bad, if you were desperate enough to go to _Stark_. It took him ages to figure out my system.”

Maria exhales heavily at the sound of Natasha’s voice, her casual tone. “Yeah, yeah. I think you made him cry.” She tries for a nonchalant tone. “So we’re okay?”

“You mean, besides the fact you’re the director of an international organization who currently has a mission to kill me?”

“I’m _deputy_ director. And yes. Besides that.”

“I suppose so.” Natasha hums for a moment. “But you have to do one thing to make it up to me.”

Maria looks towards the ceiling, asking silently for strength. “..... What is it?”

-

That’s how they start playing a long distance game of chess. Maria sets the board up in her living room, feeling foolish. Then it just becomes part of their pattern, announcing their next move during their phone calls. That keeps happening, too. Natasha gets a somehow-even-more-encrypted permanent phone number

Maria has stopped questioning it. She’s careful not to reveal any SHIELD information, so what’s the real harm? A small part of her brain is aware of what flimsy reasoning that is, and that sooner or later Maria is going to have to face the bigger issue, which is that she’s developing romantic feelings for an internationally wanted assassin, but Maria does a great job at suppressing that part.

 

* * *

 

God, it’s been a rough week. In Saudi Arabia, Natasha lies on the roof of a very tall hotel, hidden enough that she knows she’s safe from snipers, but she’s still able to see the sky.

She doesn’t really know what it was about her latest mission, but three days later and Natasha still can’t sleep. She keeps waking up from nightmares, the echoes of their voices crowding her mind until she feels cornered, trapped in her own body, scraping at her skin with her own nails until she bleeds.

So she’s escaped to the roof, hoping the fresh air will help her calm down, or at least breathe easier. Natasha presses herself against the hard concrete, trying to stay in the present rather than be sucked back into memories.

  _Weak, she's so weak. Weak and stupid and foolish._

Her hands shake so badly she can barely hit the call button.  

“Calling so soon? Careful Romanoff, or I’ll start thinking you actually like me.”

It’s almost a relief, to be able to just slip into this easy part to play.

“Oh, I think it’s pretty clear how much I _like_ you, Director Hill.”

There’s a pause where Maria would usually correct Natasha.

“Are you..” Maria hesitates. “Are you okay?”

She must be slipping, if Maria Hill can tell that she’s upset. Or maybe Natasha just doesn’t feel the need to hide herself from this woman.

“Why do you never ask what I’m wearing? Or what I’m _not_ wearing?”

“You’re deflecting.” Maria points out. “You only flirt when you’re deflecting.”

“That’s not true. And you know, a nice person would let me deflect.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being nice. So what’s wrong?”

Natasha stares up at the stars, focused on controlling her breathing. Maria doesn’t push her, doesn’t force her to talk; just sits quietly on the phone.

“You asked me once to tell you something real about myself.” When Natasha finally speaks, she startles Maria. “Do you still want to know?”

Maria swallows the lump in her throat. “I do, but.. only if you want to tell me. You don’t have to.”

Natasha keeps her eyes trained on the sky.

“If you knew… the things I’ve done. The people I’ve been..”

Maria shakes her head vehemently before remembering Natasha can’t see her. “That doesn’t matter. I mean, your past matters. But it doesn’t change the now. We’ve all done bad things.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” Natasha whispers, her voice heartbreakingly vulnerable. “At least when I was a monster, I was something. What am I now? I can’t tell you anything real about myself because I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“That’s not true. You’re Natasha now. We can figure it out, we can-“ The logical part of Maria’s brain is cruel, agreeing that Natasha can’t be redeemed. And maybe before, Maria really would have believed that. But she’s starting to understand now, there is no good and bad, black and white, heroes and villains. There’s just her, and Natasha, and a world between them.

“Don’t.” Natasha’s voice almost breaks. “Just. Lay here with me?”

“Alright.” Maria says softly. As if she could deny Natasha anything like this.

Natasha rolls onto her side, curling up and squeezing her eyes closed. She conjures up the image of Deputy Director Hill that she’s last seen, those piercing eyes.

“Blue.” She says suddenly. “Natasha’s- My favorite color is blue. I know that. What’s yours?”

Maria exhales with a smile. She doesn’t have to think about it. “Red. My favorite color is red.”

 

* * *

 

The fall passes like that. Chess moves, and postcards from odd places, and discovering little parts of Natasha’s personality. Natasha does her best to open up, late at night, and pretending she said nothing the next day. But still; progress. Maria dodges Clint’s knowing looks and Coulson’s attempts to set her up on blind dates, and between training new agents, mediating between Fury and the council, and dealing with all the paperwork, she manages to finds time for quiet moments on the phone with Natasha. It may be unorthodox, and bordering the line of illegal, but as time goes on, Maria finds she’s no longer willing to put a stop to it. Talking to Natasha Romanov makes her _happy_ , even if she may never admit it.

 

* * *

 

Well, shit.

If she lives through this, Fury is never going to let her hear the end of it.

Ever since the disastrous mission in Belarus, Maria has been extra cautious with her teams, and when the opening for the Chile mission came up, she refused to let them go in without her.

Fury made some whole impassioned speech about how Maria was more valuable at the base rather than out in the field, but Maria had just tuned it out until it was her turn to retort.

And now here she is, bleeding out on the floor of this shitty apartment in the middle of god-knows-where, South America. But she insisted the rest of the team continue the mission. So that’s good. They’ll be okay.

Maria lets out a breath, but it turns into a cough and she spits blood into her palm. Damn.

She’s happy everyone else got out. If she’s going to die, at least the rest of her team will make it. Coulson and Clint have each other. With a pang, she realizes the only person she didn’t get to say goodbye to is Natasha.

There’s spurts of gunfire outside, yelling in a language Maria doesn’t recognize. If they find her, she hopes they at least make it quick. She shuffles sideway, the burst of pain in her side making her vision go blurry.

When it clears, she feels her heart skip a beat.

The pain is so great that Maria knows she hasn’t died yet, but she can’t think of any other reason she would be seeing what she’s seeing, which is Natasha A Romanov, code name The Black Widow, case file 39724, kneeling in front of her.

The world twists and constricts, and for just a moment, the pain and blood and gunfire and the sound of her heart beat pounding in her ears all fades away as she looks into Natasha’s eyes for the first time.  

Maria’s first thought is that all the rumors are true.

She really is beautiful enough to die for.

The loss of blood must be getting to her, because Maria reaches out to touch Natasha’s face, just to see if she’s real. She streaks blood along Natasha’s cheek, mystified, and when her hand drops and she’s able to break eye contact, she realizes Natasha is trying to speak to her, and the sound and pain comes roaring back all at once.

“-so that I can stop the bleeding. Hill, focus. Can you hear me?” When Maria doesn’t respond, Natasha sighs and pulls out a bandage from her suit’s pocket, staunching the bleeding from one of the bullet wounds.

“Natasha?” Maria has so many questions, but just then Natasha presses on the second wound and Maria hisses in pain.

“Дерьмо. Shit. I’m sorry, I have to stop the bleeding.”

Natasha is so close, Maria can feel the heat of her breath. She can hear Natasha’s heartbeat. Or maybe that’s her own heartbeat? Everything is very confusing right now.

“Natasha, I-“

Natasha flips suddenly, spinning around to face the door and shoots twice before Maria can even register that two men were charging through the doorway. Natasha turns back to her and swears again, this time in a language Maria doesn’t recognize.

“We’ve got to go. Hill, can you walk?”

For some miraculous reason, the pain has stopped and it occurs to Maria suddenly that Natasha shouldn’t even be here.

She glares at Natasha as Natasha props her arm over her shoulder and pulls Maria to her feet.

“How did you know I was here? Did you hack SHIELD again?” Maria accuses. Her voice is sort of slurred though, so it doesn’t come off as angry as Maria would like.

“Really, Hill? That’s what you’re going to focus on right now?” Natasha is leading them down the stairs, intermittently firing. “How about you tell me where your evac point is?”

“You couldn’t find that in the files?? Why do all you super spies have such a problem following the rules!?”

“How many other super spies do you know Hill? Should I be jealous?” It’s unfair how casual and flirty Natasha manages to sound even as she drags a bleeding Maria out of the building and into the surrounding city.

Normally Maria would bluff, but for some reason it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Maria to think of words at all. “Just you, Nat. Only you.” She doesn’t even feel panicked when she lets the nickname slip out. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she can’t feel much of anything.

“Keep talking, Hill. You have to stay awake, okay? Tell me about the mission, huh? Who are you gonna fire when you get back?”

Maria blinks. Her eyes are so heavy.

“Maria, we’re almost there. Maria. Stay with me, Жизнь моя. Come on. We’re almost there.”

Maria tries to open her eyes again, but they won’t really cooperate. She’s trying to figure out why Natasha sounds so panicked. Outwardly, she just sounds angry, but Maria knows better now. She can hear the undercurrent of fear in Natasha’s voice, even as Maria fades in and out, unaware of their surroundings.

“You know,” she mutters the first thing that comes to mind, “they say no one meets The Black Widow and lives.”

“Then you’re going to be the first, okay Hill? You’re gonna live, okay? Promise me.”

Maria wishes she could see. She just wants to see Natasha’s face one more time. But she’s so tired. She’s so so tired.

“Hill! Maria! Please! пожалуйста!”

Why is Natasha so upset? Maria can’t remember. But she doesn’t want Natasha to be sad. She’d do anything to make Natasha happy. “I promise.” she mumbles with the last of her strength.

“Everything will be okay.” That’s what wants to tell Natasha, but she’s losing consciousness now, and everything starts to fade. The last thing she remembers is Natasha’s hand gripping hers, the brush of Natasha’s lips on her cheek.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> source for the quote at the start of this chapter: https://aprweb.org/poems/magdalene-the-addict-the-affliction

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at disastrouslesbian or allloversbetray


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